by Gemma Hart
So it had been Roy who had changed the date of the deal.
I saw the Juarez man in the corner twitch a little at the question. I was almost positive he was the mole agent. Pretty impressive for him to have made it high enough into the upper circles to be present at this deal. But then again, wasn’t I here as well?
“I told you, Bautista,” Roy said calmly. “The quicker we do this, the better. Right now, I can tell somebody is sniffing around us and we can’t waste any more time waiting. There’s danger nearby.”
I stiffened. I had no idea what the status on Operation Raven was but Roy wasn’t mistaken. I was fairly certain there were two FBI agents in this room alone.
“That’s really the reason why, Roy?” Bauti pressed, narrowing his eyes. “This isn’t some kind of power play against me?”
Was the mole agent actually nodding to an earpiece? I watched the man give quick, jerky nods while pressing a finger discreetly to his left ear. Even to the most untrained eye, it looked high suspicious.
Under the dim lights, I could see the thin sheen of nervous sweat on the man. There was a crackling energy of excitability around him that made me feel on edge. Clearly, he was not completely comfortable being undercover despite having been inside the Juarez Family for months now.
Then it hit me. Perhaps he was nervous because he knew the raid was about to happen. Maybe he had notified the Feds in time and Operation Raven was still in place.
I swallowed, trying to keep my face as calm as possible so as not to give anything away.
“Oh come on, Bauti,” Roy said. “I have just as must to lose if this deal failed as you do. I would never do that to an old friend.”
Roy Desmond would soon as gut an old friend as he would look at him. And I was sure Bautista Juarez knew that. But for the sake of this deal, I could tell that he was willing to accept Roy at his word. This time.
Bauti walked forward. “Fine then, old friend. Let’s discuss the—”
“Alright! Everybody down!”
I looked up, along with everybody else, to see the mole agent aiming his rifle at us. He was covered in sweat and his body would not stop twitching. I could see him jerking his head awkwardly, as if trying to ignore his earpiece.
“What do you—” Bauti started before the agent began shooting haphazardly. Everyone immediately threw themselves on the ground.
Under the steel frame of the building, the echoes of the ricocheting bullets blasted through the air. I saw the Juarez men leaning over Bauti to protect him. Completely prostrate on the ground, I couldn’t turn around to see Roy but I could hear the shuffling of the men as they worked to cover him.
After what felt like hours but was probably only a few short minutes of firing, I heard the cries of another voice.
“Down, agent! Down! Cease fire!” a voice came crashing through.
I jerked up at the voice. Agent Hadfield!
Dressed completely in tactical wear, he was carefully aiming the rifle into the hangar while motioning for the mole agent to stop firing. Behind Agent Hadfield were at least another dozen agents, all armed and ready.
I was about to shout or say something, out of sheer panic and shock of seeing them when I felt something hot sear across my arm. I immediately gripped my upper arm and felt the warmth of blood gushing against my fingers. I had been shot.
Almost immediately, the firing stopped as agents filed into the hangar, quickly disarming the Juarez men. Because of the mole agent’s sudden and rash firing, the Family had not been able to collect themselves before the FBI closed in on them.
I could hear Bautista Juarez screaming a string of Spanish curses as the FBI took him into custody. Just like that, one of the most powerful men of Mexico had been captured.
I quickly turned around. Had they caught all of the Desmond men as well?
But instead of seeing agents surrounding Roy and his men, I saw just emptiness. There was no one there. I was the only remaining person from the Desmond party.
“What the…” I whispered, slowly rising to my feet. I winced as the movement caused my wound to burn.
Where were the men? I had heard them behind me. I had heard them during the gunfire. But maybe….maybe instead of trying to cover him, they were leading him back out of the hangar under the cover of chaos.
“Agent Margot?” a masked FBI agent asked, approaching me.
I swallowed dryly, too stunned to absorb anything. “Yes,” I finally answered.
“You’re injured. We need to escort you back. We can take you to be treated before you are debriefed,” the agent said, motioning me out of the hangar.
“Roy,” I said, my lips turning numb from blood loss and shock. “Roy Desmond was here….”
“Agent Margot, I need to escort you out of here,” the agent said again, pressing a hand against my back.
I just nodded dumbly, following him out.
Outside were a small army of trucks and cars with lights flashing brilliantly against the night sky. I watched as the various Juarez men were being loaded into the cars. I could still here Bauti shouting in Spanish.
The black Desmond Range Rover was gone, leaving no trace.
“Agent Margot?”
I looked up. Although he was still wearing his helmet and protective eyewear, I could tell it was Agent Truman.
“You’re injured,” he said, staring at my bloody arm.
He turned around and shouted, “Agent down! Agent down! Need assistance!”
I turned to the right where two agents were approaching me, ready to help me. But it wasn’t the agents I saw.
It was the man I saw in the far distance behind them. He was far enough away in the shadows that nobody had yet spotted him.
Despite the dark night and the blinding lights of the FBI vans, I could make out the face of the man. And worst of all, I could make out his expression. His expression of complete and utter betrayal and anger.
Marco Desmond watched me as I was carefully ushered into an FBI car. I felt his eyes on me as the agents carefully loaded me in, bloody arm and all. And I felt his rage follow me as we drove away, leaving my heart in the dust.
Chapter Twenty One
Halle
Three Days Later
I kicked a loose piece of cement as I walked down the sidewalk towards my apartment. It had been three days since the raid and it still felt weird to head home. I had become so used to rooming at the Desmond compound that it felt almost alien to have a whole apartment to myself.
After the botched raid, we had all been driven to a makeshift headquarters where they could separate the chaotic mess. They gathered up the spitting mad Juarez Family into a separate truck and quickly drove off, most likely to speak with international authorities about having the notorious mob in custody.
I had been taken to a corner of the room where a temporary medical stand had been erected. The bullet had been a flesh wound. Stitches were all that were required.
The twitchy agent who had botched the job was named Agent Ryan Moralez, I learned. Agent Truman had thrown off his helmet in disgust as soon as he had alighted from the truck at headquarters.
I watched from my seat on the medical cot as Agent Moralez sheepishly pulled out his earpiece and undid his Kevlar vest which he had worn under his jacket.
“What the fuck were you thinking there, Moralez?” Agent Truman demanded. Sweat from his hot gear was glistening off his forehead.
Moralez looked ashamed and confused. “I know I fucked up,” he said.
Agent Truman made a noise in the back of his throat as if to say, “No shit, Sherlock!”
Moralez winced at the judgmental sound but he persevered. “But I really was trying my best. I had everything worked out and planned to the minute. But when Desmond changed the date, I—”
“Then you clearly didn’t have everything planned out, did you?” Agent Truman interrupted, annoyed. “Any agent worth his salt would have a contingency plan in his pocket for situations just like this! You did
n’t think that someone as paranoid and twitchy as Desmond would do something like a last minute date change? It’s textbook 101!”
Agent Moralez mouth opened and closed, as if wanting to say something more but just wasn’t able to find the nerve to, not after botching that mission. I watched the young man.
He was a young agent, under thirty years old. And I could tell he was still quite green. His fingers were laced together in front of him in a deceptively calm position but I could see how white the tips were. He was gripping his hands in his nervousness.
Moralez was just as sweaty as Truman, if not more. And his eyes kept darting back and forth as if expecting the National Guard to stomp on in to rain judgment on him.
I couldn’t help but be numbly surprised by this choice of field agent. With the slight loss of blood and the minor amount of shock from being shot, I was feeling very loosely connected with my body. But even in this detached state, I couldn’t help but wonder why the FBI would pick such a green agent for this case. This was a highly sensitive and dangerous case, as I was reminded regularly with my meetings with Agent Truman and Hadfield.
And yet, in the middle of such a dangerous environment, they felt comfortable sending in not just one green agent but two? After all, I wasn’t even trained as a field operative. I was even greener than Moralez.
“Agent Margot?”
I looked up saw Agent Hadfield standing above me. He looked tired and worn out but had a slight look of…satisfaction. I stared, confused. This whole raid had been a mess. Months of planning had just been blown up in their faces. I had lost the one man I had wanted to save from this whole situation. Satisfaction was the last thing anyone should be feeling right now.
“I know you’ve been injured,” he said, nodding towards my bandaged arm. “And we have Moralez and the Juarez Family in custody to deal with. Why don’t you go home and rest and then in a few days, we can call you in to debrief.”
I was surprised. “You don’t want to debrief me now?” I asked. Wasn’t that standard protocol—to debrief agents as soon as a mission was completed? It made sure that no small details were lost forever to memory.
Agent Hadfield shook his head. “It’ll take several hours to do and the nurse told me you should get some rest. You’ve lost quite a bit of blood and would be woozy. You might get foggyheaded and recall things incorrectly. It’s better you get some rest,” he said. “We have an agent outside who’s waiting to take you home.”
Feeling exhausted and somewhat numb, I agreeably followed Agent Hadfield out towards the waiting car. And within a matter of hours, I was at home, tucked into my own bed for the first time in weeks.
But of course, just because I was in bed, didn’t mean I was able to rest. In fact, I felt more restless than ever. All I could do was keep picturing Marco’s face as I was escorted away.
The look of such pain and anger slashed at my heart. And in the moonless nights, when I laid in bed, my brain tormented me further by bringing back memories those passionate moments we had shared. It made me relive the sweet touch of his lips against my breasts. My thighs clenched in remembrance of his large cock, filling and stretching me all at once.
And then of course, the memory of his face from that night became all the more unbearable.
I wanted to find him. I wanted to rush to him and explain. I wanted to tell him that I had joined the FBI to follow in the footsteps of one of the bravest men I knew, my father. I had joined to help people and to do good. And so I had accepted this mission in hopes that I was doing right by those who could be hurt and victimized by people like the Desmonds.
But I hadn’t expected to meet someone like Marco. He was sexy and powerful and incredibly smart. But I knew he was also in pain and tortured, mostly caused by his own father. Most men would crack under such horrific pressures. Either they would’ve taken their own life to escape the madness or they would’ve succumbed to the darkness that Roy Desmond exuded, forsaking all evidence of ever having had a heart.
But I knew Marco had done neither. From the way he had held me to the way he had spoken about his brother, I knew Marco Desmond had a heart. And it was a big one. It was fractured and scarred but it had a terribly large capacity to love and protect.
And that heart was exactly what I had fallen in love with.
That is what made me fall in love with Marco Desmond.
But I knew there was no way to explain any of it. In his eyes, it was a complete betrayal of trust. And I couldn’t fault him for that. How else could he see it?
I pulled out my keys and opened the front door of my building. I sighed. It was likely I would never see Marco Desmond again. And the pain I felt from that realization was indescribable. But there was no way to get in contact with him again without putting him danger.
After the debacle of a raid, I could only imagine how crazy Roy Desmond was right now.
I punched the button for the elevator. As I rode up to my floor in heavy silence, I wondered if the FBI would plan another operation on the Desmonds. Sure they had caught the Juarez Family but the Desmond Family had been the number one target, after all. And they had gotten away. If they were planning another operation….
I pulled out my keys again and opened the door to my apartment. After all, how many people were as familiar with the Desmond Family as I was? I could be an invaluable asset. Maybe I could be a part of the next operation. And then when the moment was right, I could slip away and try to—
“Oh my god!” I gasped, as I flicked on the lights.
Sitting calmly on the living room windowsill was Marco Desmond.
Dressed in all black with a dark leather jacket, he looked lethal. His square jaw was stubbled and taut. His dark eyes were narrowed as they pinned me to the spot.
It was really him. It was Marco.
And it hurt so good to see him.
My heart pounded like a hummingbird’s both from surprise and the ache to see him. I stared at him, completely wide eyed and stunned.
We exchanged glances as we seemed to both be figuring out what to say next.
“Wha…What are you doing here?” I started. I missed you, my heart cried out. But the words couldn’t come past my lips.
Marco gave me a steely look that made my heart cringe. It looked as if any affection he had felt for me had been melted away. I hoped it wasn’t true but looking into the cool darkness of his eyes, it was hard to believe otherwise.
This shouldn’t have been surprising to me. I should’ve known someone from the Desmond Family could find me. After all, I was the only one who had not escaped with the Desmonds during the raid. It was odd that given the ambiguousness of the aftermath I wasn’t offered the witness protection program.
But it wouldn’t have mattered anyway. I would’ve declined the offer had they given me the chance. It was silly and stupid and reckless but I wanted to be traceable. I wanted to leave that door open. In case Marco ever wanted to walk through it.
And now he had.
But it was very clear by his expression, he had not found me to confess any kind of loving words. I felt a trickle of sweat slide down my back as I watched him uncross his arms and rise, his tall figure looming against the backdrop of my small apartment.
“You’re FBI then,” he said. It was a statement but I heard the implicit question within.
“Yes,” I answered, my throat dry. God, I wanted to explain to him how crazy and convoluted everything had become! How I had never meant for any of this to end the way it did. How I still wanted him in my life. But again, none of those words were able to make it past my lips.
He stared at me, as if seeing a new me. It hurt for me to think he was recalibrating what he had thought of me. I must look deceptive and fiendish to him now.
“You didn’t seem like an FBI agent,” he said, watching me.
I gave a little shake of my head. “My normal department is accounting fraud. I was never trained as a field operative.”
Marco raised his brows. “And
they thought it would be a good idea to send an untrained agent to the Desmond compound?” he asked, clearly thinking the Bureau to be completely out of their mind.
I couldn’t say I disagreed. “They thought I would be less conspicuous since I didn’t ‘seem’ like a classic agent,” I said. I winced internally thinking about how the only reason I had gotten the job was because of my figure and blonde hair.
A tense silence fell between us.
“Have you been debriefed?” he asked, his voice hollow and cold.
I shook my head, my hands aching to touch him. “Not yet,” I said.
He looked mildly surprised and then his expression turned suspicious. It was unusual for an agent not to have been debriefed by now. He thought I was lying.